In honor of Jason’s birthday today, we went to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants to celebrate. Without giving away our destination entirely, I’d describe the place as a “fine dining establishment” along the lakeshore in our hometown. It’s not somewhere we visit frequently, but in year’s past, I spent many a summer evening waiting tables there (and it’s been a go-to spot throughout our entire relationship–from our first date to the night we were engaged to birthdays and anniversaries). The view is lovely, the food, always impeccable, and most often, the service, personable and attentive.

Tonight, we enjoyed a delicious meal and naturally, each other’s company. Our server, however, quickly made himself worthy of a blog post–and contributed tremendously to my “list of things not to say to a pregnant woman.” I record this in jest (for the most part), and I have to laugh. People can be so funny when there’s a belly involved.

At first, he came to take our drink order and I picked something off of the “zero proof beverages” menu. This seems like an obvious choice for someone like me–my baby bump now drawing the attention of the greater population on most days. “Dave,” as we’ll call him, made some wise crack about me forgetting my ID and wondered why I wasn’t ordering an alcoholic beverage. The look on his face was priceless when I leaned back in my chair, gave the belly a pat and said, “I’m nearly to term. I’m thinking I’ll hold off for the night.” This didn’t bother me in the least, but I think it bothered Dave. He was already a bit awkward, and he only grew more so throughout dinner. At one point, he shared a story about “two chicks” he once served at another establishment, later used choice language at the table next to ours (he seemed to know them), and then, almost literally, put the icing on the cake.

After our dinner plates had been cleared, Dave came back to the table, dessert menus in hand, and without hesitation said to me (and I quote), “Whaddya say, preggo? Are we having dessert tonight?” Really? Seriously? First you didn’t notice that I was pregnant at all, and now you’re calling me “preggo” without hesitation? I can’t make this stuff up. Imagine my delight when I could say, “No, sir. I ordered a cake and it’s waiting for us at home.” Insert polite, fake smile. I was already excited about J’s cake and the rest of his birthday celebration, but this moment made it all the sweeter. Not to mention the fact that staying for dessert might have meant for more bizarre conversation, and let’s be honest, I’m a little too outspoken to have remained overly tactful for much longer. We paid the bill and made our way home, laughing about the oddity of our experience and chalking it up to another great, awkward pregnancy story to tell. At least dinner was delicious, and we had this fabulous cake (courtesy of Second Floor Bakery) waiting for us when we got back to the house:

outside, j's bmw. inside, chocolate truffle cake with strawberry filling 🙂

looks just like it! (but more edible)

3D side view mirror. sweet!

30 years. and many more, love. many, many more!

All joking aside, I’m so thankful that there’s so much to celebrate as Jason welcomes a new year. We’ve had a great day together, and now, we’re going to dive into birthday cake bliss with a side of milk, and a few more sweet moments of birthday to share.

preggo, zero proof and married to a classic,

mm